


the danganronpa effect

by seraf



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Hallucinations, Hospitalization, Identity Issues, Introspection, M/M, Mild Blood, Other, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Virtual Reality, unreality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:13:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21947122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seraf/pseuds/seraf
Summary: kokichi ouma is bleeding.no one else can see it, strangely enough. and it doesn’t - it doesn’t come from anywhere. there’s no wound that it comes from. but he is bleeding, he is bleeding, he is bleeding nonetheless. it soaks through the back of his wheelchair, makes his thin hospital gown a sickly purple as the achingly bright pink seeps into the pale blue.
Relationships: Oma Kokichi & Shirogane Tsumugi, Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi
Comments: 3
Kudos: 168





	the danganronpa effect

kokichi ouma is bleeding.

no one else can see it, strangely enough. and it doesn’t - it doesn’t _come_ from anywhere. there’s no wound that it comes from. but he is bleeding, he is bleeding, he is bleeding nonetheless. it soaks through the back of his wheelchair, makes his thin hospital gown a sickly purple as the achingly bright pink seeps into the pale blue. 

_it’s not real, you know._ the woman he’s speaking to for the week says, her voice cold and clinical. kokichi drags one bleeding finger over her desk, watches it pool underneath the legs of her desk. _you’re suffering trauma-induced delusions, most likely._

next week, he’s talking to someone different. he doesn’t mention the blood.

it’s the wrong color, too.

shinguuji has breakdowns, sometimes, claws at his throat, his face, as though the steam is choking him again, as though the mask is branding into his face all over again. when shinguuji’s nails scrape away the skin over his cheekbones, the blood that beads there, before they grab his wrists to make him stop, is a deep, dark red. but kokichi - kokichi keeps bleeding pink.

_the murderer is harukawa maki,_ he scrawls on the wall of his room while he’s trying to sleep, the blood dripping down his fingers _._ it turns a dull brown as it dries, looking for a moment almost like real blood. not like team danganronpa’s technicolor nightmare. maybe that can make them see it. ( maybe there’s a universe where maki was convicted as the murderer. she was supposed to be, after all. one of the characters, one of the people, who had signed the waiver beforehand allowing team danganronpa to turn them into a killer. ouma supposes that they _had._ ) 

‘ i think harukawa-chan killed me, saihara-chan, ‘ he singsongs when they’re all eating lunch, his fingers tapping on the armrests of the wheelchair he perches in. sometimes, it is hard for him to walk. because of the hydraulic press, right? that had to be the reason. of course, of course. he holds his hand over his hospital tray, watches the blood drip into his food, stain it danganronpa-pink. he likes that color.

saihara frowns, stabs at his greyish meat with his fork. refuses to look ouma in the eyes. ‘ stop that, ‘ he says, voice cold.

ouma tips his head to the side. ‘ huuuuh? stop what? ‘

saihara wordlessly picks up his tray and walks away, sits at one of the other tables, between angie and toujou, before resuming poking at his food. ouma frowns, sticks out his tongue.

there's nothing that he can do to get saihara back - he's already been warned against bothering him too much. so he looks down at his bloody food, and decides to let it go. for now. there's always later, after all! always later; always more time to play with him.

_you know_ , says the next therapist, when they meet on tuesday ( they're really starting to blur together a little bit. couldn't team danganronpa have chosen anyone more interesting? anyone with a more memorable face, a personality that meant something? this all made ouma so bored. ), their voice disapproving, _the game is over. you can give up the act._

‘ what act? ‘ ouma asks, blinking like a saint. there's almost a visible halo over his head.

the therapist sighs, rubs their eyes. _you don't need to stay in character all the time, you know. it's starting to unnerve everyone around you. we can't keep doing this._ you _can't keep doing this. it isn't healthy._

ouma blows a raspberry at them. ‘ are you saying i'm not doing a good job? ‘ he asks.

( he knows he is. he came up with this character, after all. scripted just about everything! more than anyone else, he should be able to play this part. the blood is just . . . a side effect. one that made sense, after all. when he had died, he remembers being so, so, so bloody. )

_don’t you realize that doesn’t make sense?_ the next therapist asks. monday’s treatment. he doesn’t like her. she smiles like she knows something better than him. _how would you be able to remember your own death? you have to know that these aren’t your memories._

he doesn’t bother to deign her with a response.

_there’s something called the tetris effect,_ the therapist says, examining her fingernails. _when someone spends so much time and attention devoted to an activity that it begins to pattern their subconscious - their thoughts, their mental images, their dreams. i think perhaps that’s where the blood may be coming from._

a stupid thought. he tells her as much, swinging his legs. he doesn’t quite remember what it had been like to be crushed, but that’s an alright hole in his memory. he imagines it’s just like being buried in rubble, being suffocated, being crushed by a press - like enoshima-san, in the first ever game. ‘ that doesn’t make seeeense, ‘ he whines, rolls his purple eyes. ‘ i didn’t think about blood all the time, you know. therapist-chan is silly! ‘

she raises an eyebrow, adjusts her clipboard in her lap. _no, but you did think about danganronpa all the time._

ouma’s fingers clench around the handrests of his wheelchair until he could swear the metal starts to creak. ‘ i’m leaving, ‘ he says abruptly, beginning to angle the chair to turn out of the room.

the therapist sighs, with a knowing kind of resignation. like she was expecting this outcome. _very well. but keep it in mind._

ouma is already at the threshold, when she jabs it home.

_shirogane-san._

he grits his teeth, continues to wheel out of the room. what did she know, after all?

later that night, ouma blinks at his blurry reflection, the purple contacts already taken out for the night. he gropes around for his glasses.

( she had always been good at understanding her roles best when she was in cosplay. it was how she best learned about a fictional character, after all, by stepping into their skin! and ouma kokichi was fictional. she had written him, after all. he was one of the best she had ever written. )

( he died in the simulation. unfortunate, really - she had been meaning to demand an explanation from him, wanted to pick apart his thoughts. he would have made a _fantastic_ mastermind for v4, whenever all the kinks were worked out. but he managed to evade explanation. )

( she rests the purple wig on the corner of the bathroom sink, frowns slightly at her expression. it isn’t enough, she decides, after a long moment of looking at her own, plain, face. shirogane tsumugi is not a necessary character to round out the cast, and she hasn’t figured everything out that she needs to. who cares if they’re all a little unnerved by ouma, fresh from the grave as he is? her version of him is impeccable. they should be grateful. )

kokichi ouma is bleeding.

it makes sense. he died bloody.

there is no other possible reason for the blood that coats his vision.

**Author's Note:**

> i was . . . pretty sick while writing this, so it's a little bit incoherent, but i hope you like it! you asked for something you might want to keep reading/keep thinking about, so i tried to make the twist unpredictable.


End file.
